She-Dragon Raised By Wolves
by CallaLily2000
Summary: What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a little girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change. Female Jon Snow x Jaime Lannister
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY: What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a little girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.**

The smell of blood permeated the air around him, as he let the body slump to the floor. The King, dead before he hit the ground. His death brought the tally to four, including the pyromancers. "Burn them all," continued to be repeated over and over in his mind. Adrenaline was racking through his body, causing the hand holding the blood stained sword to shake in his grip. He tightened his grip and sliced the dead king's throat for good measure.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open allowing for the sound of pandemonium and smell of smoke to fill the room, followed by the figures of 6 Northmen with what could only be Lord Eddard Stark in the lead.

"Ser Jaime Lannister." Lord Stark stated hesitantly, grey eyes noticing the body of the late King Aerys on the floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Jaime's green eyes, golden blond hair, and white cloak making it easy for the northern lord to identify him.

"Lord Eddard Stark," was Jaime's distracted reply, seeming to be focused on the chaos outside the Red Keep. Chaos that was the product of his father's orders. "Have you instructed the Northern Army to restore order to the city?"

"I have."

"Good." With that he turned on his heels down the hall, and out a side door, heading to Maegor's Holdfast.

As Jaime ran through hallways passing multiple doors, he hears the tell tale signs of multiple men following. "What the hell happened? Where are you going?" Eddard Stark demanded.

Without stopping Jaime answers, "Prince Rhaegar charged me with protecting his wife and children, and I shall honor his command to the best of my ability. I just hope I'm not to late."

"If your Prince commanded you to protect his family then why kill the King? He was the Prince's father?"

Upon seeing the drawbridge, Jaime increased his speed hoping that he was wrong, that his father wouldn't kill a defenseless mother and her young children. "If I let him live, none of us would be standing here right now. We'd be burnt to ashes."

Eddard nearly tripped over himself upon hearing that, with shouts of surprise coming from his men. "What?"

"I promise to explain everything after seeing to the Princess and her children. I know my word doesn't mean anything to you right now but I need to make sure they're safe. That my father hasn't ordered their deaths. That he hasn't bribed, ordered, or payed someone to kill them where they stand."

The Northmen hasten their pace, their thoughts unknowingly mirroring Jaimes. "Do you truly believe your father would order something like that?"

"Look around you, he already has. He'll do anything it takes to curry favor with Robert and prove his loyalty. My father and Cersei desperately want her to be Queen, they don't care who they have to kill that's in their way of finally achieving their goal."

One of the guards asked, "What about you? Don't you want your sister to become the most powerful woman in Westeros."

"I want the old Cersei back. Who she was before she became obsessed with power, before our mother died. I don't even know who she is anymore."

Before anyone could respond to the downtrodden answer, they heard a noise that would never be forgotten by any of them for as long as they live. A young child's terrified, pain filled scream had pierced the air, causing the men to pause in the halls of Maegor's Holdfast before rushing towards a room with Jaime leading the way.

Before their eyes was a horrifying sight. A large knight, who would later be identified as Ser Amory Lorch, was standing over the tiny body of what used to be Princess Rhaenys Targaryen continuously stabbing her, covered in her blood.

Multiple of the hearty Northmen looked ill, as their minds pieced together what must have occurred. The little Princess seems to have been hiding under her father's bed, she was then dragged out and stabbed close to half a hundred times, her wounds overlapping one another, creating gaping holes.

Before either could think their actions through, both Eddard and Jaime raised their swords and ran Lorch threw. Jaime in the chest, Eddard in the stomach.

As the knights body slumped to the floor, they heard another scream but this one was different, though similarly horrifying. It was the scream of a helpless mother as her child was killed in front of her. With barely a backwards glance to the tiny body on the floor, the men gathered themselves and ran down the hallway, and up a flight of stairs.

Upon reaching the room that emitted the scream and taking in the sight before them, a guard finally did lose the contents of his stomach. In the nursery, unidentifiable matter was smashed against a wall with a dead babes body laying unceremoniously on the floor directly below it, its head nowhere to be found. Ser Gregor Clegane was raping the body of the late Princess Elia Martell, whose head was smashed the same way as her sons, Prince Aegon Targaryen. His hands were covered in their blood, as he rutted against her corpse.

"Knock him out if you can." commanded Lord Stark in a soft voice as to not alert Clegane of their presence. The guards, Lord Stark, and Ser Jaime exchanged a few glances between themselves before letting instinct take over.

With the element of surprise on their side, Ser Jaime led the scrimish to take down the already legendary knight. It was almost pitiful how short and easy the fight was, with minor injuries being inflicted upon them by the knight nicknamed the Mountain. Slices and scratches, deep and shallow, covered the large man's body, his blood mixing with his victims. The Lannister and Stark repeatedly delivered well placed blows to his head, causing the Mountain to succumb to blackness.

With the threats having been eliminated, Jaime almost submitted to the shock that had been trying to pull him in for the better part of an hour. But he refused to do so, knowing that it was neither the time nor the place.

Heavy panting could be heard throughout the room as Eddard finally got his bearings under him, and enough breath in his lungs to state, "Find anything that we can use to tie him up with, I want him as restrained as he possibly can be, and then some."

The Northerners scoured the rooms around them, being respectful to the dead as they searched for sheets, ropes, anything they could possibly use. They finally found enough curtains, bedding, roping, and heavy fabrics in a linen closet two doors down.

While Lord Eddard's men were on the hunt, he and Ser Jaime searched the abnormally large man for any weapons upon his person. Stripping him of his multiple knives and greatsword, he was then hogtied and swaddled to the point of complete and utter restraint. He was to be carried down the Red Keep and his restraints later changed to steel, and most likely rewrapped in the fabrics to eliminate the possibility of the Mountain escaping.

The Stark men were ordered by their lord to carry the deceased body of Amory Lorch and the unconscious body of Gregor Clegane to the great hall, while he and Ser Jaime saw to the remains of their Princess and her children. They were given explicit instructions to allow no one to remove the restraints around the Mountain, not even if Tywin Lannister or Robert Baratheon ordered them to do so.

Tears filled Jaimes emerald green eyes, as he stared down at the woman whom he had come to see as a sister, who showed him how family was supposed to act around each other. She taught him what love was, familial and other, unlike the manipulative affection his own blood sister used against him.

His time as a Kingsguard allowed him to see what could come from his unusual relationship shared with Cersei. The type of madness and cruelty that could be born from incest. Jaime decided then and there that he would never entertain the possibility of resuming his bond with his sister, no matter the scheming she would attempt to use to get him to change his mind. In the deep recesses of his mind he knew all along that she had never truly loved him the same way he loved her, that she had most likely found another lover during their time apart, if Tyrion's letters were anything to go by.

Jaime carefully wrapped the sister of his heart in extra bedding, and moved on to the tiny body of Aegon. An unprecedented amount of anger spread through him as he tucked the babies body into spare fabric. Images flashed through his mind of silver blond hair just growing in, purple eyes opening for the first time, a strong grip as Aegon held on to his finger. He shook his head, telling himself that he would reminisce later, preferably with a large quantity of strong alcohol.

Footsteps signaled Eddard's approach. Jaime turned to see the Northern lord walk to the doorway, carrying a toddler sized object, wrapped in a purple sheet. He was holding a familiar blanket draped over his arm. It was a red blanket embroidered with black dragons and orange suns. Jaime turned to the corner of the nursery where a crib lay, with a similar blanket draped over the wood. This one was a black blanket with embroidered red dragons and orange suns.

Lord Eddard spoke in response to the unasked question, "We don't know how much of this stuff will be returned to Dorne, or if they'll burn everything. I thought it might be a good idea to grab something of the childrens to give to the Martell's. Something for them to keep and remember them by."

"And Elia too. She was the one who made them." replied Jaime, his voice gruff with unshed tears.

"At some point you are going to have to explain what you meant by burnt to ashes." Eddard pointed out to him grimly.

"They make you swear vow after vow. Defend the king. Obey the king. Defend the Royal family. Obey your father. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. But what if your father despises the King. What if the King massacres the innocent. My first week as a Kingsguard, I didn't know what to expect… but certainly not Aerys burning people alive as punishment. For crimes that would garner most a slap on the wrist or were perceived as a threat to the crown. He saw enemies everywhere, no one was safe from his wrath. But it never stopped there. See, he would grow aroused by burning people. So, the nights when people were turned to ash, Aerys would visit Queen Rhaella's bedchamber. He would beat and rape her, while my sworn brothers and I stood guard at the door. When her cries could be heard through the door, I asked Ser Jonothor Darry what to do, I mean we were sworn to protect the Queen. Ser Darry replied,"but not from him." Lord Commander Gerold Hightower once summed it up perfectly, you see he told me that I swore a vow to guard the King, not judge him. After that I coped by "going away inside." I would focus my thoughts on anything else, but the scene in front of me."

Jaime gathered the lifeless bodies before him and motion for Eddard to follow him down the hall.

"I wasn't there when your family was burnt. My sworn brothers noticed that I was coping the worst amongst us, so they placed me on duty guarding the royal family. I had been standing guard with Ser Barristan Selmy over Queen Rhaella, Princess Elia and the three royal children in the gardens. It had been a relatively happy morning, until we heard the screams and saw the smoke. Not seconds later we could smell… the proof of what was happening. On our way back to Maegor's Holdfast, we heard more than enough rumors to know what had truly taken place. No one could openly speak their minds by that point, for fear of execution by fire, but we all knew that he had just tipped the delicate balance and forced us into a war that we could not win."

Eddard drew a deep breath in before nodding his head, acknowledging the proverbial olive branch that had just been extended to him, "Thank you for clearing that bit up, I honestly don't know what I would have done if you had told me that the supposed "most honorable knights of Westeros" had stood by and watched as a Lord Paramount and his Heir were burned alive and strangled, respectively."

"Part of me wants to believe that had I been in the throne room that day, maybe they would still be alive. That I would have been strong enough, honorable enough to stop the proceedings."

"You would have been burnt alive, next to my father, as soon as you opened your mouth," Eddard stated.

"Everything was fucked after that. You've heard of wildfire?" At Eddard's nod he continues. "The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. He burned lords he didn't like. He burned Hands who disobeyed him. He burned anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him. Aerys saw traitors everywhere. So he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city. beneath the Sept of Baelor and the slums of Flea Bottom. Under houses, stables, taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself. Finally, the day of reckoning came. We heard that Robert Baratheon was marching on the capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father arrived first with the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels. I knew my father better than that. He's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the Mad King as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully. But the king didn't listen to me. He didn't listen to Varys who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle, that grey, sunken cunt. "You can trust the Lannisters," he said. "The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown." So we opened the gates and my father sacked the city. Once again, I came to the king, begging him to surrender. He told me to... bring him my father's head. Then he... Turned to his pyromancers. "Burn them all," he said. "Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds." Tell me, if you were commanded to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept your oath then? First, I killed the pyromancers. And then when the king turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. "Burn them all," he kept saying. "Burn them all." I don't think he expected to die. He- he meant to... burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen. That's where you found me."

Silence reigned loudly through the corridor as Eddard stumbled forward to lean against a wall, his mind unable to accept the reality of what he had just been told. "Seven bloody hells… Mad King Aerys… seems rather tame now."

Jaime nodded his head, allowing the Northern lord time to adjust.

"It still would have happened, wouldn't it have?" At Jaime's questioning look Eddard clarifies, "This thrice damned war. Even if Rhaegar hadn't taken my sister, we would have been facing war in the coming years either way."

"I believe so, though everyone probably would have been better prepared. With less blood shed on either side, and Rhaegar leading the battle to dethrone his father," Jaime confirmed.

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Lord Stark, Prince Rhaegar knew the kind of monster his father was. I think he always knew. From my understanding, he saw numerous times as a young child, the type of violence and bloodshed Aerys was capable of against Queen Rhaella. Once he was old enough, strong enough, he'd attempt to stop the beatings. This prompted Aerys to order his heir away as often as possible. But the only two who had any semblance of control over Aerys was my father, and the late Lord Steffon Baratheon. And eventually they weren't even enough."

Nodding his head, Eddard pushes himself off the corridor wall, readjusting his grip on the child in his arms. The Westerlander and Northerner continued on the path down to the Throne room, where raised voices could be heard.

"God's I need a drink… What will you do now?"

"Shed this god forsaken white fucking cloak, and get the hell out of this place. My father will be thrilled to hear that come out of my mouth."


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY: What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a little girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.**

Chapter 2

Lord Eddard Stark and Ser Jaime Lannister turned the corner, reaching the final hallway towards the throne room. Before continuing down the path, Jaime quietly voices, "Lord Stark, there are things we need to discuss between the two of us. But not here. Not now. There are too many ears in these walls."

Eddard turns and tilts his head, before nodding, acquiescing to the statement. "I do believe that you have won the right to call me Ned. Or Eddard at the very least."

Jaime stares wide eyed towards Ned. "Then call me Jaime… Thank you."

"For what?" Ned states, rather confused.

"Listening to me. There are already stories of the Quiet Wolf, with enough honor to fly like an Arryn. I was so sure that the moment those doors opened and you walked in, I would be labeled Oathbreaker for the rest of my days."

Ned continued walking silently, contemplating in his head before answering, "Before this war, I probably would have done exactly as you said. I saw everything as black and white, right or wrong. No shades of grey. It took my father and brother dying for me to realize that while honor is important, it's not worth your life or your families. Nor will it save someone's life either. I'm a wolf. I always will be a wolf, and we will protect our pack to our dying breath. No matter what it takes. Sometimes the right thing to do isn't honorable, but that does not mean you shouldn't do it."

"Isn't it such a pain in the ass. You learn the important life lessons after the time you actually needed them… Makes you feel like the Gods are laughing at you."

The young Stark lord lets out a cynical laugh, surprising the knight next to him. "Nobody ever said the God's were actually merciful… and if they did they were lying out of their ass."

"Do you think I could arrest that cunt of a High Septon for telling lies? Or get him stripped of his titles? He mentions the God's mercy at least once a sermon."

"I think he's got bigger problems going on right now," Ned states, jerking his head towards the open window, where fire and smoke could still be seen.

"Well, I'd obviously wait a while, maybe lull him into a false sense of security."

This time the laugh that came from Ned's mouth was lighter, more genuine. Yet it still surprised Jaime, and evidently Ned himself. "God's be good… I haven't laughed like that since before I got the raven."

There was no need to question which raven, there few that could have caused the Stark to stop laughing. And each was worse than the last. Word that his sister was taken, by a prince to boot. His oldest brother riding off, demanding Lyanna be set free. His father riding to King's Landing for the release of his heir. His father and older brothers subsequent deaths. The order for Lord Jon Arryn to execute his wards and send his King their heads. There's no surprise that Ned hadn't truly laughed in months.

Before Jaime could come up with a suitable response to the dejected comment, they had stepped through the threshold of the throne room. Emerald green eyes and steel grey ones, each separately scanned the room, a by product from the last few years of their lives. Emerald eyes met their sires, from across the room, the older pair a few shades darker.

Upon seeing his father, Lord Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands, standing next to the Northern soldiers, whose duties were to guard and restrain the unconscious mass of the soon to be disgraced knight, obviously arguing for his release, Jaime let out an almost imperceptible sigh of frustration.

The young Northern Lord exchanged a glance with the blond, before promptly moving towards the argument that was taking place. It was becoming a stand-off with Northern soldiers standing with their brothers in arms whom were facing off against Westerland lords and their men. Jaime quickly followed the Stark towards his father, desperately wishing for this day to be over.

As the Northerners took in the sight of their young Lord they promptly straightened to their full height, nodding their heads as a sign of respect. Catching the sight of the steel that flashed through the eyes of the unlikely Stark and Lannister duo, the Old Lion resigned himself to the knowledge of losing his two best butchers.

Before either lord paramount could speak useless pleasantries, the booming laughter of their new king could be heard, along with the slow galloping of horses.

Once the entire riding party was in full view of the open double doors, the waiting squires, knights, and lords (surrounding the unconscious and bound body) could take in the sight of Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale, Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, and King Robert I Baratheon leading the way towards them, towards the throne room.

The glee that took over King Robert's face, upon him catching sight of the wrapped up bodies still held in the arms of Jaime and Ned, wiped away any doubt in Ned's mind of his best friends involvement in the butchering of a mother and her babes. The resigned look on Jon Arryn's pale face brought forth the question of his mentors involvement as well.

Dressed in fine fabric, black hair neatly trimmed, and face clean- shaven, Robert looked and acted every bit as a king should, as he dismounted, standing at his full 6'6 height, before the now kneeling men. With a nod acknowledging the kneelers, he strode forward and up the steps, to sit on the monstrosity that is named the Iron Throne. His newly appointed Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, quickly followed behind, stopping half way up the steps.

Robert placed his strong arms against the metal arm rests, his large frame unusually dwarfed by the twisted steel chair. He officially acknowledged the group of men still kneeling between the dragon skulls of Balerion the Black Dread and Vhagar, "Rise my lords, it is a wondrous day, is it not. Today the tide has officially turned in our favor, with little fights left to win."

Fitful cheers rang through the hall as battle weary soldiers remember the chaos still taking place outside these walls. High pitch screams of horror could still be heard from the streets in front of the Red Keep.

King Robert glances down to the prone body on the floor, crimson staining the pale flesh and silver blond hair. "Does anyone know the identity of the person who officially freed us from the reign of the Mad King?"

Ned glances towards Jaime to see the knight momentarily steeling himself before calling out, "It was I, your grace… You see… Aerys was Mad. The maddest Targaryen recorded in history. He saw enemies everywhere. You looked at him wrong and he would burn you alive. Prior to the Battle of the Trident, King Aerys had been preparing a plot, which involved placing caches of wildfire throughout the city. Upon realizing that my lord father had betrayed him, Aerys ordered his pyromancers to ignite the wildfire, wishing to leave you, my king, with nothing but "ashes and bone". He then ordered me to kill my lord father, and bring him his head. I followed the master of the Alchemists' Guild, and killed him. I then realized that as long as King Aerys was alive, he could continue to order people to do his bidding faster than I could kill them. I attempted to argue with him, trying to force Aerys to see reason… I don't believe he expected to die in the fires, he meant to rise again as a dragon… he just kept repeating "Burn them all. Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds." In the end I killed Aerys and two more pyromancers."

Silence filled the room as Jaime trailed off, allowing for the chaos outside the keep to fill the hall.

"Millions of lives would have perished. Many of us standing here now would not be alive, if it weren't for your courage, Ser Jaime. Once I have assumed all powers of my kingship, I shall officially pardon you from any crimes committed here today, for you were acting in the good of the realm." Strong cheers answered King Robert's declaration, offering reassurance to the words that were spoken. "Men should be dispatched immediately to properly remove and dispose of the wildfire, see that it's done Jon. Once we are finished here."

Robert continued on, trying to lighten up the mood, "Our possession of this city would not have been possible without Lord Tywin Lannister's forces joining the fray and sacking King's Landing." This statement aroused more cheers from the Westerlanders. Robert continued after a brief pause, his booming voice reaching every corner of the hall. "You have my utmost gratitude Lord Tywin. Ask of me anything you may wish, and if it is within my capabilities, I shall bestow it upon you."

Lord Tywin stepped forward, placing distance between himself and the crowd."I only ask for two things your grace. My son and heir stripped of his white cloak, and returned to his rightful place as future Lord of the Westerlands."

"Of course. Ser Jaime Lannister, once you have stripped of your white cloak and armor, you are free to leave as you please."

The young heir stepped up beside his father, still holding the two bodies in his arms, and states, "My humble thanks your grace," receiving a nod in return.

"And your other request, my lord," questioned Robert.

"Should Lady Lyanna be unable to wed you, I would like to suggest my daughter Cersei as an alternative."

"We shall take that into consideration once Lady Lyanna has been found," Jon Arryn interjects, leaving little room for further discussion on the matter.

Roberts sky blue eyes flit across the room before connecting with a pair of steel grey. The King finally takes in the situation surrounding Ned, that had gathered so many of his Lords together in one area of the giant hall. "Oh there you are! By the Gods Ned, why are you sulking in a dark corner? And why in the seven hells have your soldiers restrained Clegane and killed Lorch?"

The young Lord Stark's eyes flashed dangerously, as he stepped forward and stated calmly, "They murdered a woman and her babes, one barely old enough to lift his head."

"Good! He killed the bloody dragonspawn! And their whore of a mother! They should be praised and rewarded, not condemned! I'll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on!" bellowed Robert.

"I'd be careful what you say Robert, your whole kingship lies secure with only the fact that you are 'dragonspawn' yourself. If you wish to rid the world of 'dragonspawn' then I hope you are ready to become a kinslayer and commit suicide," Ned replied in a calm but booming voice.

"Careful Ned. Careful now, you're talking to a King!" thundered Robert.

"I would proceed with extreme caution, your grace," Ned stated venomously, with clear disrespect and contempt laced in his voice. "And I would advise you here and now, to turn Gregor Clegane over to the Martell's if you have any plans of keeping Dorne in the fold."

Uneasiness settled over the hall as silence lingered between the two men, who not hours before, saw each other as brothers.

Ned continued in a quieter tone, "There are rumors that Lyanna lies hidden deep in the Dornish deserts. After lifting the siege from Storm's End, as a show of good faith, I plan to travel to Dorne, and deliver the Martell's the bones of Amory Lorch and an unconscious Gregor Clegane, along with the bones of the late princess Elia and her children, so that she may be laid to rest in her homeland. And I swear to you now Robert, I will never return to this godforsaken city."

Jaime steps forward again and queries, "With your leave, your grace, father, I wish to accompany Lord Stark to Dorne to lay my charges to rest, and in hopes of salvaging any relationship between the Martell's and Lannister's."

Robert continues to glare at Ned. He grits his teeth before, finally, answering with a single nod.

Without waiting for an official dismissal, the Northern contingent immediately bow before King Robert, and make a hasty exit, taking with them the bones of Amory Lorch and a still unconscious and bound Gregor Clegane, leaving no sign of their brief visit behind in the throne room. Ned and Jaime follow at a more sedate pace, with the bodies of the prince and princesses still carried within their arms.

Silence reigns as they stride down the halls, exiting the keep in a well organized manner. Once in the courtyard leading to the stables, Ned turned to order his men, "Gather our forces, I want us ready to march in an hours time. Check with the Maesters, make sure they have enough milk of the poppy in their stores to keep a man the size of Clegane unconscious for the better part of our march. And procure a cart to carry the bones of the dead, and that unconscious mass." Ned states, while gesturing towards the prone figure of Gregor Clegane. "Grab some of the strongest chains, and restraints that can be found. Check the streets of steel if you can not find any in the barracks or training yard. Go."

Before Ned was finished with his commands, the soldiers were already breaking formation to do his bidding. A cart was brought forward immediately, allowing for Ned and Jaime to set down their precious cargo. Ned carefully takes the blankets, of what he assumes were Prince Aegon's and Princess Rhaenys', before folding and placing them into a knapsack that will eventually be strapped to his horse.

"You sure, you want to come?" Ned gruffly asks.

"Positive," states the newly reinstated heir.

Before either man can attempt to converse further, the swirling of a white cloak catches their attention out of the corner of their eyes. Ser Barristan Selmy can be seen rushing towards them from the direction of the throne room. "Have you told him? Does he know?" questions Ser Barristan brusquely.

Jaime looks around before answering, "Not yet. We need to get the hell out of this city before I'll feel comfortable talking about such subjects."

Barristan nods in agreement before stating to Ned, "You need to understand Lord Stark, that few people know the truth. Only the Kingsguard, Prince Rhaegar, Queen Rhaella, Elia and possibly her brothers. You need to keep an open mind. Remember that you have not been told the whole story. And believe me when I tell you that we will follow our princes commands until our death, whether it be to protect his lady wives and children. Or to stabilize the realm to the best of our abilities."

Ned gives a shaky nod of his head, causing Ser Barristan to give his own answering nod. He crosses the distance between himself and Jaime, shaking his hand firmly and says, "You did well brother. I wish I had the same strength. Take care of yourself."

The two lords watch Ser Barristan's quickly retreating back, the knight presumably heading in his new King's direction. "He just said lady wives, did he not?" Ned breathlessly questioned.

"Aye. He did." As Jaime turned his body to face Ned, he was struck with the realization that he needed to pack his personal items from the White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguards' chambers are located.

Jaime refocuses on the conversation at hand, "I promised I would explain everything, to the best of my abilities. I will. Just not here. Not out in open, in this place."

Ned stares hard at Jaime before answering, "I'll hold you to that… Now go gather your personal items. Anything that can't be easily packed and carried, send with your father. And change out of that armor and cloak. Put on something much less conspicuous. Meet me back here within the hour, I'll have one of the stable hands ready your horse."

Before Jaime can turn entirely away from the Northern Lord, they both spot a larger, taller, and more heavily muscled, than normal adolescents body moving towards them, the boys eyes fixed on the unconscious mass being unceremoniously lifted onto the cart. The closer he came, the more clearly they could make out the slick, twisted, red scars covering half of his face. His grey eyes and dark hair, a sharp contrast from the scars.

Jaime paused at the damaged skin on the five and ten year olds face, the scars helping to identify the boy who had moved as close to his brother as he possibly could with the Northern guards blocking his way, his eyes turning harder the closer he got.

"He's going to die, isn't he? You're taking him to Dorne to be tortured and killed." Sandor Clegane raspingly asked.

The two highborns exchanged multiple glances, before Ned finally answered with a blunt, "Yes," moving his hand subconsciously towards the hilt of his sword, in preparation of any hostile movement against his men.

The younger brother of the rapist and murder shocked the individuals in the vicinity with his curt response, "Good."

The young man finally turned away from the sight of his motionless brother, turning towards the heir to his home region, and draws his sword from its sheath, kneeling. "My lord I wish to serve you, to the best of my ability. To be your sworn sword, I offer my services. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Having startled the newly restored heir with the aforementioned vow, Jaime stutters briefly before answering with a vow of his own. "I-I vow you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise."

Sandor unfolds his body from its kneeling position, his height easily 6'5, though not yet full grown, and sheaths his sword.

Ned states confidently, though clearly off kilter from the unexpected proceedings that had occurred throughout the day, "Both of you, gather your personal items. Clegane, ready your horse. Meet me here in an hour."


	3. Chapter 3

**SUMMARY: What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a little girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.**

Chapter 3

An astonished look stayed plastered upon the Lord Paramount of the Reach, Mace Tyrell's face, as the two significant lords of their own right exited his ostentatious, green and gold tent. A wolf and a lion. Working together. Agreeing with one another. It was an unprecedented development. One no one ever consider fostering. But what a team they made, talking down the Lord of the second most wealthiest kingdom in all of Westeros. Berating him, while simultaneously making him feel influential and high-ranking. Forcing his hand, making the lord agree to resupplying Storm's End with much needed provisions.

Not moments after officially exiting the Tyrell camp, having been met and flanked by their Northern and Westerman guards, Jaime could hear the angry rumblings of the solemn young lord next to him. "... the audacity of that man… eating feasts night after night… within sight of the castle… thought that he would be able to leave and not be penalized… he was trying to starve his new kings family… what did he think would happen… that he would walk away from this war unpunished…"

After a few moments of ranting under his breath, Ned turns to one of the soldiers and questions, "Is everything prepared, as I specified?"

The unknown Northern soldier answered, "Aye, my lord. Yours, Lord Jaime's, Lord Sandor Clegane's, Lord Howland Reed's, Lord William Dustin's, Ethan Glover's, Martyn Cassel's, Theo Wull's, and Ser Mark Ryswell's horses have been watered and fed, their packs and provisions restocked. They are waiting for you, my lord's, at the western gate. A raven has been sent, as you requested, to Sunspear. The Dornish should be aware of your travel by the time you reach the Red Mountains."

With a glance towards the Lannister lord, Ned nods in the direction of the path which would lead the way towards the western towers, that guard one of the few gates of Storm's End. The forms of 9 horses, 6 men, and a covered wagon led by two horses, could just barely be discerned from such a distance aways, waiting.

"You may return to camp boys, get some rest. Your slow march home officially begins tomorrow," states Ned as he turns towards the keeps western exit. His dark hair ruffles in the wind, giving warning of a storm brewing not far off, grey eyes focused on the dark clouds in the direction their small contingent will soon be heading towards. The murky clouds cast shadows over the entire keep and surrounding areas of Storm's End, making the large, grey, circular castle appear gloomy and desolate.

"By your leave, my lord," answered the Northern guards simultaneously, before nodding their heads and leaving in the opposite direction of their lord.

Jaime's emerald green eyes mirror Ned's grey, as he tracks the darkening clouds across the sky, "We need to leave now, if we plan to make any headway today."

In response, Ned begins the trek down the slightly perilous path, leaving the young lion and scarred hound with no other option but to follow.

"Do you trust these men?" Jaime quietly questions, multiple hours into their journey. "With my life," was the blunt response.

He nods his head, golden curls partially obscured by the rain cloak that was hastily put on not half an hour in.

Ned peers silently ahead for a time before asking, "Are you ever going to tell me what you thought I so desperately needed to hear while we were in King's Landing?"

"You have to understand, once I tell you this… everything changes for you and your men. There is no going back once you know. I have sworn to protect her, from even her brother if I must," states Jaime, desperately trying to explain what is at risk.

"I would never hurt my family. Ever," glares Ned, dangerously.

"Us too. We love and care for Lyanna. She's our friend. Our she-wolf," states Howland Reed, with nods and cries of confirmation ringing out behind the two major lords conversing, reminding the two that any conversation to be had in the present would not be private.

Jaime nods again, his muscular frame slumping in defeat before explaining, "Well I guess it all started at the Tourney at Harrenhal… your sister, Lyanna had disguised herself as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. As you recall, Aerys sent men including Prince Rhaegar to uncover the Knight's identity. Rhaegar discovered Lyanna in the Knight's armour, and lied to Aerys, saying the knight had eluded him and his men." Quite a few of the Northerner's looked, dare he say proud of their she-wolf. Some looked as if they wished to say something quick witted but were quelled with one look from their young leige lord.

Jaime continued on, "Later that same night, Rhaegar told Princess Elia the truth of the matter. Elia was quite impressed with Lyanna's courage as well as her technique, and so she wished to meet her. Before such meeting could be set up, the Princess and your sister met unexpectedly. Elia learned much about Lyanna that day, quickly growing to respect and care for the young lady after only a few hours of knowing one another. To be truthfully honest both Elia and Rhaegar grew fond of her and Lyanna seemed to be taken with them as well. It was after the unplanned meeting that Elia told Rhaegar to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty, instead of herself, for in her eyes no one else was worthier." Silence rang through the group as they continued along their route, ever vigilant of danger, but otherwise preoccupied by the story being told.

"After the tourney, Lyanna kept in touch with Rhaegar and Elia through the Dornish spy network," he raised his hand before Ned could finish opening his mouth to ask a question. "Don't ask. They're everywhere. Through their communications they grew to truly love Lyanna and she them. Stories, feelings and secrets were shared, including your sisters hatred for her betrothed, and it was soon decided that Lyanna would not wed Robert Baratheon. Rhaegar and Elia wished to marry her instead, but were worried of causing another faith militant uprising. So they planned. Elia sent ravens to her brothers in Dorne explaining the entire situation to them, asking for aid in their scheme. Through their own connections and with the help of Elia's brothers, they created a plan to smuggle Lyanna into Dorne. From my understanding, Lyanna was to sneak out of Winterfell with help from the only Dornish spy to have been able to infiltrate the keep. She was then to ride to White Harbor and board an unmarked Dornish merchant ship. As far as I know, Lyanna sent ravens to both her father and eldest brother explaining everything once her ship had set sail. It is unclear if either ever received theirs."

As Jaime continued on with his story, Ned's eyes grew colder, turning the color of northern steel. A mixture of anger, desperation, and sorrow crossed his face, as his grip tightened exponentially onto his horses reigns, causing his mount to neigh in protest. He unclenched his fist, whilst patting his steed in apology.

"Rhaegar, Elia and their children went south to meet up with Lyanna in Dorne. Only Rhaella and select members of the King's guard new the truth behind their trip. Once in Dorne, High Septon Maynard married Lyanna to Rhaegar and Elia in front of the heart tree. Soon after, it was decided that Lyanna would be hidden in Dorne until all had been settled in King's Landing. With the unrest growing across the realm, Aerys demanded that Elia and the children return immediately, forcing them to leave not days after the ceremony. Having not been requested back, all involved decided that Rhaegar would stay to help settle Lyanna in Dorne before returning two week later. During that time, it was discovered that Lyanna was pregnant."

Upon this revelation Ned jerked to a stop whipping his head around to face the Lannister, "You're joking…"

"I'm afraid not," replied Jaime solemnly. "Shall I continue?"

Ned shook his head violently, as he wrenched himself off his mount, storming away towards a thin clearing of trees. He cried out in frustration and despair, before dropping to his knees with his head in his hands. Silent sobbing could be seen wracking through his body, vigorously, from half a mile away.

The men watched from their horses, as their friend and liege lord slowly collected himself from his brief period of mourning. No one said a word to the Stark, while he remounted his horse, struggling to regain his steely composure.

After a nod from Ned in his direction, Jaime resumed speaking, "When the raven arrived from Elia concerning Brandon's capture… Lyanna was hysterical. Rhaegar left for the capital immediately… but by the time he got there, he was too late to save your father and brother from their fates. I know little else from the correspondences between the three except that the pregnancy has been extremely hard on Lyanna's body… I want you to know that the truth is not the rumors that have been spread throughout the realm. Rhaegar did not set Elia aside, nor did he kidnap Lyanna, or rape her. Rhaegar loved Elia and they both loved Lyanna. The three were overjoyed that she was pregnant… they could not wait til the babe was born."

Ned nodded his head in acknowledgement, whilst staring blankly ahead. "It's just… it is a lot to take in…"

"I know. I was there for part of it, and I myself can not fully believe what I am saying."

The camp was quiet that night, as each individual thought over what had been shared that day.

The Northerners, though disgruntled by her having inadvertently caused the war, loved their she-wolf. She was one of their own, so they would continue to protect and care for her and her future wolf pup. There was no other alternative.

Sandor Clegane would follow as his lord commands, and Jaime seemed to have chosen to protect Lyanna Stark and her child. That was good enough for him.

Ned was having trouble wrapping his mind around all the facts presented to him, but one thing he could accept was that though the babe would be half dragon, it would also be half direwolf. The babe would be family. Pack. And he protected his pack to the best of his abilities.

The small contingent of Northerners and Westermen could just make out two figures standing guard, donned in white armor and cloaks, as they cantered down the South side of the sandy mountain. A large tower loomed overhead, casting a shadow above the group, allowing for a brief reprieve from the Dornish sun and heat.

Dark violet, almost black, eyes peered out beneath the white helm of one of the stationed guards, his hands lingering on the hilts of the double swords strapped to his belt, the famous, pale milkglass colored, anscestorial sword named Dawn identifying the knight. Ser Arthur Dayne shared a long look with his brother in arms, Ser Oswell Whent, before addressing the approaching unit. "Lord Stark… Jaime…"

"My sister… How's Lyanna? And the… babe?" Questioned Ned immediately, forgoing the expected pleasantries.

"Healthy and pink. A girl. Born late last night," answered Ser Arthur. "Lyanna though... " he trailed off with a shake of his head.

"Tell me, please."

"She… The pregnancy was incredibly hard on her body, from the beginning. It was a long birthing process and… she's lost too much blood."

Ned swallowed thickly as he attempted to process the words that had been spoken. "... a Maester… does she have a Maester?"

"Ones with her now. With the pregnancy nearing its end, Princess Elia and Princess Lyanna sent ravens to Elia's brothers. Lyanna and Prince Oberyn seemed to have struck up something of a friendship. The Martells sent a Maester and wet nurse over but there's nothing more he can do for her… He thinks she'll pass before tonight."

Neds pale face became further ashen, before he rushed to dismount, struggling to regain his footing. Jaime and the soldiers followed suit, wearily, keeping both guards in view as they themselves dismounted.

Ser Howland Reed stepped forward hesitantly, as their liege lord had seemingly lost his will to speak, "Is she… I mean… Can we see her? And the baby girl?"

Ser Arthur eyed him before answering, "If any of you bare ill will toward Princess Lyanna or her babe, we will cut you down where you stand. Is that clear?" Answering nods came from all around. "Good. Only a few may visit at a time along with Ser Oswell or I. Decide amongst yourselves."

With a few glances between one another it was almost unanimously decided that the first to visit would be Ned, Jaime, and Howland accompanying Ser Arthur. The rest would wait outside, guarding both the tower and their precious cargo, the bones of Elia, her children, and Armory Lorch and the unconscious, restrained mass named Gregor Clegane.

The three followed after the legendary knight called The Sword of the Morning, as he climbed the stairs of the tower, leading to a set of chambers where feint moaning could be discerned.

The metallic smell of blood mixed with herbs engulfed their senses immediately, upon opening the chamber door. An older, tanned skinned male, whom they determined was the Maester, was standing above a pale, dark haired, grey eyed beauty who was covered in sweat and blood. The Maester was muttering under his breath whilst he checked her pulse rate and temperature.

The female laying limply on the bloodied sheets waved him off as she caught sight of her older brother, "Ned… "

Ned rushed forward, "Lyanna.."

"Is that really you... " Having reached her side, Ned took Lyanna's hand in his, uncaring of the blood covering hers. "... You're not a dream…"

"No I'm not a dream. I'm here... I'm right here."

"I've missed you big brother," Lyanna gasped out.

His lips trembling, as he brushes her hair back from her temple, Ned responds, "I've missed you too... "

"... I want to be brave," she choked out, barely holding her tears back.

"You are," said Ned, adamantly.

Lyanna shook her head before he completely finished, "I'm not." She paused, whilst Ned lifted his hand covering her stomach, drenched in blood. "I don't want to die…"

"You're not going to die," responded Ned, gruffly, his voice thick with tears. He turned to the Maester, and the other three men in the room, "Get her some water… Do something… help her…"

Lyanna shook her head vigorously whilst gasping for air, her steely eyes peering at the group of men standing at the foot of her bed. "No Ned… Listen to me. Listen. Her name is Visenya Lyarra Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill her. You have to protect her. All of you. Promise me Ned… " As the wet nurse moved forward to place a small babe wrapped up in a bundle of blankets into Neds arms, Lyanna's gaze moved from her brother to Jaime, Arthur, and Howland, "Promise me… Promise me…" Having received nods from the men, Lyanna's gaze shifted to rest adoringly onto her daughter in her brothers arms. Her voice trailed off into a whisper, as she accepted her fate knowing that her little girl would be safe and protected from harm, "... I am so sorry Ned… I love you both… so much…"

Ned and his niece simultaneously released a cry of anguish and despair, almost as if the babe new her mother was no longer with her. He slumped forward, sobs wracking his body, clutching the newborn to his chest, whilst he rested his forehead against the arm of his dead sisters body.

Ned allowed his sobs to abate, and looked down at the shrieking child in his arms. "... shit."

Startled out of their own mourning, Arthur nodded his head understandingly, but Jaime and Howland looked questioningly towards one another, before Jaime asked, "What? What's wrong?"

The Stark shook his head disparagingly, as tears still flowed down his cheeks. He moved away from the bed, allowing for the Maester to start cleaning his sisters body and preparing it for travel. "Have a look, yourselves…"

Jaime stared down at the baby girl unabashedly, "Well… Fuck."

Howland nodded in agreement, eyes shocked, "This just got ten times harder."

For, the baby in the Warden of the North's arms possessed the features of Lyanna and the coloring of Rhaegar. Her porcelain face long, with full lips and large eyes. Eyes that at a day old, were already turning Targaryen purple. Through the blankets wrapped around the babe, one could just make out tufts of varying shades of silver curls resting atop her head. Targaryen high cheekbones were peeking through the baby fat on her cheeks.

Any plans made on the trek to Dorne by Ned, were disintegrating in front of their eyes. Her prominently Targaryen coloring would make any sane person question her parentage. Not even did the Daynes possess the specific color purple that her eyes were changing to.

But he made a promise to Lyanna. A promise to protect the little girl held in his arms. A promise that he would try his hardest to keep. So Ned would continue with the previous plan, and claim her as his illegitimate, natural born daughter. Lyarra Snow. But they'd have to be cautious. Few outside the Northerners would be allowed to view his new daughter, he'd have to keep her covered on the journey home. Ned would soon have to trust that his new wife, Catelyn's, house words rang true. Family. Duty. Honor. That she would put family first before anything else, for that was what Lyarra was. Family. Pack.

The road to Starfall, the ancestral seat of House Dayne, was hot and treacherous, with little water sources to be found. The covered wagon now a body and trunk, filled with a marriage certificate, a Stark maiden's cloak and a Targaryen bride's cloak, a babies blanket stitched with dragons, suns, and direwolves, along with stacks upon stacks of letters, heavier. The sight of the white castle caused great relief to course through their contingent. Ser Arthur Dayne led the way through a side entrance, allowing for them to be noticed as little as possible. Upon their arrival in the private courtyard, all could sense a somber mood had settled over the normally lively castle. Arthur's older brother, Lord Ulrick Dayne, met them there, a small smile set upon his tanned face, but his sullen dark eyes show cased deep grief.

Arthur dismounted and strode towards his family member, clasping his shoulder and bringing him into a firm hug. "Brother. What's wrong?"

"... Ashara… she… She birthed a stillborn girl… When word had reached her of Brandon Stark's demise, the only thing keeping her alive was the babe growing inside her… she… but when the baby died too… she broke…yesterday morning, she threw herself off the Palestone Sword…and into the sea… We have yet to recover her body. "

Arthur's violet eyes filled will unshed tears, as he glanced away from his brother towards the sea smashing violently into the rocky cliffside. He'd never again see her tall figure waiting for him to come home, her haunting violet eyes filled with excitement, her long, dark hair loose from any bindings "What of Allyria?"

"Allyria is inconsolable. Emaline is with her now." Lord Ulrick's eyes flickered towards the group of young men, still mounted on their horses, watching their exchange with sympathy. His gaze lingered on the Stark lords form, specifically the baby held to his chest, and the Dornish wet nurse lingering not far behind. "Come. All of you. We'll talk in my solar," he stated before turning around and walking towards the purple side entrance door.

Five minutes later found two Dornish men, two Westermen, one Riverlander, five Northerners, and a baby in Lord Dayne's solar. The Maester and wet nurse were shown to a guest room, while two Northerners, Theo Wull and Ser Mark Ryswell, guarded the dead and imprisoned bodies. Four of the five Northerners, plus one hound, remained standing on guard, leaning against the walls and multiple pieces of furniture, in the large, light filled chambers, while Ned, Jamie, Ser Oswell, and Ser Arthur sat across from his brother. Lyarra was still clutched to Ned's chest, leaving Lord Ulrick unable to see anything but a wayward silver curl and a pale baby hand grasping the Stark lords large thumb.

Lord Ulrick opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could be spoken, his solar doors were thrown open and a blur of black hair slammed into Arthur screaming, "Brother!" Ulrick's wife, Emaline, trailed in after her, followed by Allyria's septa and guard both looking relieved that their charge was showing an emotion other than sadness.

Arthur responded with a sad smile of his own, whilst moving as if to detach from her embrace, which she refused to allow. He pacified the six name day old saying, "I promise, I'll see you tonight before bed." With a quick kiss to Arthur's cheek and Ulrick's white blond hair, Emaline herded the harmless intruders out of her husbands solar.

Ulrick clasped his hands together, resting them on the elaborately carved purpleheart wooden desk that was imported directly from The Summer Isles, and asked, "Ok. Tell me, what the hell happened. And what do you need."

Allowing Arthur to handle the explanation, the rest of the gathering relaxed back into their chairs and listened as he put into words the events of the last year and a half. He touched briefly on every event, including the act of bravery that was quickly making Jaime a legend, people now calling him "The Protector of the Realm", "He was truly mad brother… All of us considered performing the act ourselves but we never had the courage to go through with it. We should not have left the act to be carried out by the youngest in our order." Arthur then went on to explain the relationship between Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Elia, and how the baby girl fast asleep in the quiet wolfs arms was involved. Once he was finished there was dead silence in the room whilst the men allowed the Dornish lord to process the information.

"What do you need me to do?" asked Lord Ulrick.

A sigh of relief could be audibly heard throughout the room as Arthur responded, "First things first, we need to procure a ship and supplies that will last us till at least Sunspear, we'll be stopping there on our sail north to relieve us of our precious cargo and the Maester; the wet nurse will continue the journey with us. We also need to send two ravens. One to King's Landing, to let that oaf, Baratheon, know of Lyanna's demise. The second to Sunspear, giving them warning of our departure in their direction. And the last thing we need is… well… Whent and I need to die."

A worried, confused look entered his older brothers eyes, but he nodded his head anyways knowing that Arthur would do anything to protect his charge, including faking his own death. "Consider it done. Your old trousers and tunics that you left behind are still in your old chambers. And Lord Stark," Ned looked up, "for the love we shared for our dear princess, and that she would have considered the babe in your arms to be one of her own, you may use Ashara's death to fuel the rumors that will arise concerning her parentage. We will neither confirm nor deny the rumors if asked if Ashara is Lyarra's mother. No one, to our knowledge, knows the truth about Ashara and Brandon's relationship and we shall keep it that way to help further protect the little princess."

Ned froze as realized what the man had just given him permission to do. Lord Dayne was giving him leave to take advantage of his sister, Ashara's, untimely suicide to help cover up Lyarra's parentage, and slow people down from finding out the truth. Ned shifted the babe in his arms to one side, allowing for one of his hands to be freed. He stood, moved forward and shook Lord Ulrick's hand firmly, gratitude shining clearly in his grey eyes, "Thank you. I owe you more than can ever be repaid. If you ever wish to come North to visit Arthur or Lyarra, send word and it will be done."

Ulrick glanced down at the silver haired baby girl. Lyarra yawned and her thick, voluminous eyelashes flicked open to display a pair of amethyst colored eyes. "Good. I'll want to check up on this little one and my brother. Now, lets go murder my brother and Oswell."


	4. Chapter 4

**SUMMARY:** **What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a little girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.**

A galley rocked soothingly side to side, across the deep blue waters of the Summer Sea. The dark, nondescript vessel headed east towards the Dornish capital, Sunspear, sailing along the southern coast of Dorne.

The blazing sun lowered into a beautiful sunset on the horizon, cooling the heated temperatures, bringing a much needed relief for the Northern lords and soldiers whom resided in the ship. Most of these aforementioned Northerners clung half hazardously to any surface their hands could reach, desperately trying to find their sea legs.

One particularly stubborn crannogman, with a small stature, slim build, moss green eyes, and light brown hair, named Lord Howland Reed stood alongside Ser Oswell Whent, a tall, strapping, auburn haired knight, guarding the cabin door at their backs.

Inside the surprisingly spacious cabin rested three men and a babe.

The youngest of the three men, at 10 and 7 name days old, sat relaxed in a chair with a longsword across his lap and a whetstone in hand. Jaime's golden curls covered his emerald green eyes, that periodically glanced up to look at the other two men in the room, as he methodically ran the hard, fine-grained stone along the edge of the sword, sharpening the blade.

Ser Arthur, sat across from Jaime. His blue-purple eyes flashed in the yellow light of the lanterns that lit up the gloomy cabin, as he stared blankly at the wall opposite him. His hand, seemingly having a mind of its own, rubbed the dark scruffy beard growing upon his face every so often. A plain, travel worn scabbard leaned against the arm of his chair, protecting a seemingly inconsequential sword, when in actuality it carried one of the most well known greatswords in all of Westeros.

The last man in the room sat upon a worn bed, with his back resting up against the cabin walls, looking down at the bundle of blankets being held to his chest. The normally brooding, young Warden of the North possessed an uncharacteristically fond smile on his lips, as his smoaky grey eyes looked upon his niece turned daughter.

Lyarra's purple eyes dropped, as she snuggled deeper into his arms and blankets. It wasn't long before the easy rhythm of Ned's heart, combined with the swaying of the ship lulled her to sleep.

Since that fateful day in the Tower of Joy, where he lost a sister but gained a daughter in the process, Ned had rarely set Lyarra down. He allowed few but the wet nurse, whom had previously introduced herself as Wylla Sand a distant cousin of House Martell, to hold her. He was more often than not, seen with a sleeping Lyarra curled up on his chest, as he dozed alongside her.

Wylla was a tall, willowy, young woman, with hair black as night, hazel eyes, and a light tan. Her voice was deceptively sweet, for it hid the steel underneath. She possessed a quiet strength that only shows when her charge is threatened, a seemingly common theme among the Dornish. And make no mistake, she's quite protective of Lyarra, having willingly sworn fealty to House Stark and herself to secrecy within minutes of meeting Ned. She's rather taken with the hidden princess, and wishes to continue to help raise her in any way she can, even if it includes traveling to Winterfell. Ned had no objections to her desire after both Arthur and Jaime vouched that she was trustworthy, the young woman being familiar with them due to her childhood at the Water Gardens among the high born nobility of Dorne, where she became fast friends with both Elia and Ashara, and later the handmaiden to Princess Elia along with Ashara.

Ned tracked his eyes across Lyarra's face, watching for any subtle signs of discomfort or awakening. While doing so he briefly wondered if his son and heir was resting now as she was, or if he was giving his mother a fight. The thought evoked images of his beautiful, red headed wife frazzled as she held a squalling babe in her arms, the child's hair a few shades darker than her own.

The newlyweds had dutifully kept in touch with one another throughout the course of the war. Between battles and maneuverings of men, ravens were sent and received by the new Lord and Lady Stark. This action caused no shortage of teasing from Robert and various members of his army.

They talked about many things in their correspondences, and learned much about one another. Some letters were light hearted, talking about childhood memories and general information about themselves, while others were heavy with Ned explaining the happenings of the war taking place without mention of his current nor future location, or the state of the rebels armies, for fear of the raven being shot down by a loyalist.

But the most memorable of them all, was a letter sent by Catelyn. It was written with palpable excitement as she informed him of her and the maesters belief that she was with child. The letters subsequently following the news were filled with detailed descriptions of her pregnancy and Ned's joy at the news, wishing to be there in person and experience this with her first hand.

Following the Sack of King's Landing, a letter had been sent from Storm's End to Riverrun explaining the search that he would soon undertake to find Lyanna in the Dornish mountains and, because of this, he would be unreachable for an undetermined period of time.

Just hours before their ship was to set sail from the miniscule harbor at Starfall, a raven arrived carrying news that his son and heir had been born. The Tully side of his heritage showed dominance with the description of the babe entailed in the letter, red hair and blue eyes. The letter had also stated that the same message had been sent in mass to numerous keeps across Dorne in hopes that one would end up in Ned's hands.

He had a child. And apparently so did Lyanna and Brandon. That would take some getting used to.

Ned sighed and let his body relax for the first time in months, allowing for his head to rest against the cabin's wall.

How was he going to tell Cat about Brandon's relationship with another woman and the stillborn baby girl? Good God's she's going to be pissed. And that wasn't even the most pressing of decisions that he needed to make.

Was he going to tell Cat the truth about Lyarra, that she wasn't his natural born daughter but his Targaryen niece? Could he really lie to her? He was never the greatest liar to begin with. Maybe lying by omission would be the best option. It would be a bad way to start off his marriage, but he'd do it to protect the baby bundled in his arms. His little wolf pup.

It might be better for his marriage had he attempted to pass her off as Brandon and Ashara's dead babe, but truthfully, that idea had only been given a brief moment of consideration before it was disregarded. It would _not_ have ended well for Lyarra or any children born between Cat and he, because there would then always have been questions of the succession of Winterfell and people looking to style Lyarra as Lady of Winterfell and the North. For any children born to the first born son should surely inherit before any children born to the second son. No, it would not have ended well at all.

Of course there's also the possibility that Cat will take one look at Lyarra and immediately know her true parentage. And that's the crux of the problem, isn't it? The hoax being played, saying that Lyarra is his bastard birthed by Ashara Dayne, will only work so long as too many people don't set their eyes upon the babe in question.

Simultaneously, Ned, Arthur, and Jaime turned towards the door, the latter pausing mid swipe of his whetstone. Light footsteps could be heard, as the unknown person in question approached the cabin and it's guards. The three men exhaled the breath they had all unknowingly been holding. Wylla's soft, bell-like voice identifying herself to the occupants of the cabin.

Shortly thereafter, the door opened and Wylla's slender figure entered the room, grasping a tray which was laden with rations for dinner.

Setting down the tray on the lone table in the room, she glanced around and asked the question that was on everyone's mind, "What's the plan?"

Ned shot a look towards the other two males, only to find them already staring questioningly at him. With another sigh, he gestured towards Wylla to take Lyarra from his arms, allowing for him to freely move and eat his dinner. This movement prompted Jaime and Arthur to do the same.

"Well, I'm guessing we can all agree on the need for Lyarra to be as protected as humanly possible," stated Ned. The terror-stricken eyes of a dead Princess Rhaenys, so similar to her half sisters, would haunt Ned for the rest of his life, serving as a reminder of the consequences that would befall her should Robert ever learn the truth of Lyarra's existence.

"Where ever Lyarra goes, Oswell and I will follow," Arthur affirmed. "Our deaths have already been faked. All we have left to do is to come up with new names, that both match our features and training, while at the same time being inconspicuous. Or as inconspicuous as we can be."

"We need to get her north. She'll be protected there," commented Ned.

"Will she? Her coloring screams Valyrian descent, you won't be able to hide her true parentage from any who actually set their eyes upon her. Will the North truly keep Lyarra a secret and protect her?" Asked Jaime, who ate with his feet propped up against the table.

"They'll be wary at first, just as they were wary with me - given my fostering at the Vale. The North is a hard place and there will be those who distrust her on the principle of the matter, but they won't rise up in rebellion if that's what worries you. They'll protect her and watch her as she grows, looking for any signs of madness. Once she gains their trust and respect, she'll have their loyalty for the rest of her life," Ned explained confidently, as he ate his ration of jerky and dried fruit. He watched in amusement as Arthur scolded Jaime, who scarfed down the last of the food sat left on the tray.

"After Sunspear, we sail north to Saltpans, where we'll make port and travel along the River Road towards Riverrun. We'll most likely meet up with the Northern Army, given the size of the host they won't be moving very fast. I'll likely keep the group of men we have on the ship right now, as guards until we reach the North. No point in risking anything, when we already have people we can trust. Once at Riverrun, Jaime and Sandor will continue on the River Road to the Westerlands. Lyarra, Arthur, Oswell, Wylla, and I will meet with Cat, and hopefully she'll listen to what we have to say. Hopefully we'll be leaving for Wintefell soon after we arrive," Ned said gruffly.

"Throughout all this, I want Lyarra to be as covered as possible. I don't want anybody, except for a select few, to truly look at her south of the Neck. Those who needn't know what she looks like, sees nothing but the outline of her body. Luckily, it's still early spring, the last vestiges of winter are still holding on. We can layer blankets on her to hide her Valyrian features."

"Just getting her north wont be enough. She'll always need protection from over reaching Lords who are wishing to bind their house with royalty and take advantage of her. Especially considering she possess blood of both Old Valyria and the First Men," voiced Wylla with clear concern in her accented voice, her statement prompting the men in the room to pause mid bite, discomfort clouding their features.

Arthur hesitated for a brief moment before continuing, "What about a betrothal?"

"To who?" questioned Jaime, confused.

Arthur and Wylla both turned to look at Jaime, causing him to lower his feet with a loud thud, and his eyes to widen in confusion, then comprehension, and finally disbelief. "Me?! You can't possibly mean to betroth her to me! By the time she reaches maturity, I'll be old enough to be her father."

Arthur waved him off, disregarding his apprehension, "It's not that unusual and it could be worse. Noble girls have married Lords old enough to be their grandfather."

"I don't think this is what Rhaegar and Lyanna had in mind when they said protect her," yelped Jaime. He turned towards Ned beseechingly, hoping for the Northman to put a stop to the current discussion.

Ned sighed tiredly, whilst rubbing his hands over his grey eyes before stating, "It's not the worst idea I've heard of, but I don't want to be too hasty and decide something right now. We both need to think this over. If we can't agree to a betrothal before you head west, I'll come up with some kind of plan to keep the Lords at bay… Who knows, maybe I'll send her to Bear Island to foster, like Lyanna had once wished to be. Those Mormonts sure know how to put the fear of Gods into any man."

The Stark's words caused Jaime to visibly relax and Arthur to smirk.

Wylla giggled, "Even we Dornish have heard of your she-bears ferociousness, I'm sure Lyarra would be quite a formidable woman if trained by them."

Ned smiled slightly before he noticeably wilted. "We just need to get north. Once she's north of the Neck, Robert won't be able to touch her without having to fight past an army and the natural land deterrents." After that, very few who hailed from south of the Neck would ever set their eyes upon Lyarra before her majority. He'd make certain of that.

Arthur shook his head, as he leant forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, hands clasped together, "You'll also need to bolster the North's defenses from both land and sea attacks."

Head having shot up as soon as the Dornishman spoke of defenses, Ned muttered, "Moat Cailin."

"Moat Cailin," Arthur confirmed, nodding his head in agreement. "Though, the amount of money and work it will most likely take to reconstruct it to its former glory is probably insurmountable. Though I obviously have no idea how much capital the North has to put towards such an undertaking. "

The Northern lord shook his head whilst stating, "It's already all figured out. The funds have been allocated towards the project, and the plans are, mostly, finalized. And for future reference, House Stark and the North in general are not nearly as poor as the rest of the realm seems to want to believe."

Seeming surprised, Jaime asked, "Wait, what? Why would you have plans already drawn up?"

Having received an answering nod from the Dayne, Ned responded bluntly, "I'm a second born son. I was never meant to inherit Winterfell. Hell, if Maester Walys had his way I wouldn't have even obtained an education befitting a Lord Paramount. Instead, Father was going to give me the Moat. Let me rebuild it, and man the keep as my own. Even then, he knew that it's not doing much to protect the North in the state that it is in now. We won't have any problems from the Northerners, nobility or smallfolk. Trust me. They've been petitioning House Stark and it's vassals to restore Moat Cailin for numerous generations. The real challenge will be building a Northern Fleet. At least with the Moat, we know where to start rebuilding given that there are still remnants of the now ruined castle. That is _not_ the case with our navy. The North hasn't had any true strength at sea since Brandon the Burner. We barely have anything resembling a fleet, a few trading ships that are hardly useful in battle."

But even with all the plans established and money set aside, it would still take time and resources to build the numerous defenses. In the meantime, Ned would have to rely on the North uniting in protecting their favored daughters princess.

The conversation continued with plans being made to look into House Starks old records concerning it's fleet, for surely there must be something, before it was abruptly changed by the lone Westerman in the cabin. "Arthur, where's Lord Commander Hightower? I thought he was with you, protecting Lyanna. I was so sure he'd attempt to cut me down, once we arrived at the Tower, before I could open my mouth"

The questioned caused Arthur to halt momentarily before answering. "You are correct. Ser Gerold was with Oswell and I, guarding Lyanna. He was sent by Rhaegar after he returned to King's Landing and the rebellion had officially started. Once Lyarra was born, and we obviously discovered she wasn't a boy, and therefore not the heir and subsequent King to the Iron Throne, Ser Gerold decided to leave for Dragonstone. He wished to guard the "true king," Viserys."

"Not really surprised. The White Bull was more stubborn than even I; a Hightower through and through," stated Jaime in a false bravado, obviously affected by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's abandonment.

Instead of continuing the conversation he returned to sharpening his sword, even though it could probably cut threw stone by now.

Having kept an ear on the conversations at hand in the cabin, Wylla sat in an old but comfortable chair, cradling the hidden princess. Unbeknownst to most in the room, except maybe Arthur, her heart and head were in great turmoil.

Wylla was unable to completely emotionally accept that she had, only recently, just lost her babe, the father of her child, and three women that she considered sisters in a matter of weeks, one after the other, with little time to grieve between their deaths. Even though the distant cousin and former handmaiden to Princess Elia had only known Lyanna for a few weeks, incredibly brief compared to having known Elia and Ashara since childhood, Wylla had quickly grew to care for her as an older sister would, having been immediately delighted with the Northern beauty and her wild spirit when first introduced. The she-wolf and her then unborn princess had been a balm to her soul, helping her heal after the loss of her hazel eyed son. They comforted each other when no one else could, after the news of the Battle of the Trident and the Sack of King's Landing reached their ears; each grieving for the loss of a lover at the Trident, and the Dornish Princess and her children.

Barely anything remained of the three women that she loved so dearly except for the silver haired child in her arms. Each of their lives and deaths had contributed to the survival of the half wolf, half dragon babe, and now it was her turn to protect her with everything she had, even her life if need be. But to protect her, she would need to travel north along with the others. There was little reason for her to remain in the sandy region, her ties to the place she called home being cut one by one. Having been estranged from her father and his family for many years now, a product from her childhood at the Water Gardens and service to Elia, the only people who she'd wished to notify of her plans were those who she'd see in the next day or so, at Sunspear.

As Lyarra stirred momentarily from her sleep, Wylla slightly shifted her arms, allowing for the change in position to calm and soothe her back to sleep. _Don't worry Lyanna, Elia, and Ashara_ , Wylla thought. _She will be safe, loved, and cared for. I promise._

A warning sound, quickly followed by feet rushing across the floor, men panting and shouting, swords being unsheathed, steel chains clanking together, and a loud thump could be heard before Ned could make his way out of the cabin.

"What the fucking hells is going on now…" Ned muttered, finally reaching the deck.

Upon first glance the Northern lord noticed a sum of ten men, both Northern and Dornish, holding the Mountain down against the wooden floorboards, and striving to further restrain him with more steel chains. He would have found hilarity in the situation, given that Gregor was wrapped in more steel and leather than should be humanly possible, had this not been the seventh time the large man had attempted to escape. Since this morning. A few of the men have been severely injured during his endeavors, but no deaths. Yet.

"Seven fucking hells." Sandor muttered from beside Ned, surveying the disordered chaos his brother was causing. His harsh tone gained Ned's attention.

Ned raised a single eyebrow in Sandor's direction, questioning, without speaking a single word, how his brother thought that it was a good idea to try and escape over and over again. Especially considering their location. On a boat, whose crew would rather take his head than help him escape, with no where else to swim to except Dorne - where they'd kill him where he stood, given that he raped and murdered their princess and her one year old son.

Seeming to understand what the Northerner was asking, Sandor shrugged his shoulders. "He's the strongest bastard. Never said he was the smartest." With that said, Sandor turned his massive frame towards the struggle, shook his head, and approached the scuffle.

Even though Sandor might have more of a reason to kill Gregor himself than most, given that his brother was the one who gave him his most defining facial feature, he could not dispute the fact that Dorne was due their justice and revenge for his atrocious actions. Even Sandor's stomach had turned once learning of his brothers most recent ruthless deeds. As long as it ended in Gregor's pain, suffering, and eventual death, Sandor would hand deliver him to the Martell's if he had to. The Hound would make sure the Mountain finally got his comeuppance. But, since Sandor was several years younger than Gregor, not yet to his full potential physically, he would need help.

Sandor and three other large men took over the task of restraining Gregor while the others wrapped him up in chains.

Seeing his brother approach, the older Clegane renewed his battle against their restraints. After grappling with Gregor for many minutes, the men seemingly unable to securely attach the straps with his constant wiggling and fighting, Sandor shared an annoyed look with Ned before forcing the Mountain on his back. Then he sat on him. Literally.

"You great fucking cunt. Stop. Moving," Sandor gritted out.

Observing this to be working to some extent, the other three men promptly copied his actions.

The Stark lord stared, agitated, at the scene, as he untangled more links of steel in case they had need of it. From beside Ned stood Wylla, who had walked out of the cabin only moments ago, annoyed with the continued struggle the disgraced knight was putting up, along with the ruckus he was creating. Having watched for a few seconds, as the apparently incompetent men were _still_ unable to secure the restraints even with the strongest of their men straddling his back, Wylla was quite frankly, exceedingly pissed off.

She had been unable to successfully put Lyarra down for a nap, multiple times, due to the racket he was creating. They were going to have a _very_ cranky baby on their hands if he didn't quiet down soon. With this in mind Wylla walked out of view for a time before returning with the heaviest thing within immediate reach. A frying pan.

Without acknowledging any of the men and their attempts to stop her from advancing forward, Wylla rapidly, and accurately brought the pan down upon the dishonorable mans head. Once. Twice. And on, and on she hit, not stopping until well after the man in question was unconscious and Wylla's anger had subsided.

With neither a backwards glance at the males on deck, nor a single word, Wylla walked down the stairs and disappeared from view, missing the eyebrows raised and the looks exchanged between the men.

Shaking off his surprise, Ned divvied out orders to the men and instructed Sandor, with a sharp glance, to remain with his brother for the rest of the journey. Having received an answering nod, the Northman followed the same path the wet nurse took back to the cabin.

With more bruises than should be possible and sweating tremendously, Sandor and the others _finally_ restrained the limp Clegane.

The burning sun, shone bright over the Rhoynish towers of the Old Palace, circling the large dun-colored stronghold shaped like a dromond. The Shadow City lay beneath Sunspear, inside the three massive Winding Walls which surround the palace.

It was an awe inspiring sight to see for the Northmen who had never viewed a structure quite like what was before them. Many paused in their tasks on the galley, quickly resuming after a brief bark of reprimanding from the Captain of the vessel.

Sunspear was a stark difference to the Northern fortresses that they called home, and that's not even mentioning the polar climate of the two regions. Sand and snow. Hot and cold.

There should be more of a hustle and bustle to the almost city, it was well into the morning after all. But instead there was an air of depression and barely restrained rage, as if the whole of Dorne was being held back by a frayed strand of string, waiting to strike.

From the ship, Ned could see flags carrying orange banners with a red sun and golden spear painted upon it, followed by a large group of both civilians and guards along the coast, outside the walls of the Dornish capital.

The people of Sunspear and House Martell had come to welcome home their Princess and her children. And see to it that her murderer pay for his crimes.

A section of the party stood separate from the rest of the group, including two men, a few women, and many children, all with the dark features of the Rhoynish nobility. Even with the distance between the ship and coast, Ned could see the frowns, and sorrowful expressions upon their tanned faces.

With an audible sigh Ned turned from the bow of the ship to help move the dead and unconscious bodies to the deck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** **What if Ned questioned Jaime, after he killed King Aerys? What if something mirroring friendship was born? What if Lyanna gave birth to a girl, a Visenya? The whole future of Westeros would change.**

Chapter 5

Barely any noise was made, aboard the vessel and on land, as the galley was steered towards the diminutive but functional dock, under the shadows of Sunspear.

Ned stumbled down the stairs through the hatch, still unused to the rocking motions under his feet, and squeezed by Sandor, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, and William Dustin assisting three Dornish sailors in moving Sandor's brother to the upper deck, though none too gently if the banging sound of a head meeting wooden stairs was anything to go by. Theo Wull, Mark Ryswell, and a few more sailors followed after with the dead body of Amory Lorch. Moving deeper into the bowels of the ship he ducked under a beam and halted as his eyes landed upon two former Kingsguards mournfully standing in front of the broken bodies carefully wrapped in cloth.

Ned paused briefly before moving forward and clasping them each on the shoulder, "They're almost home."

With the help of Jaime and Arthur, Ned moved the remains of the royal family carefully up the stairs towards the bow of the ship, where the rest of the North and Dornishmen were waiting. The location of his men and their charges were picked strategically so that if a fight were to break out onboard, most likely involving the Mountain somehow, the combatants would stay well away from his wolf pup, who was at the moment being guarded by Wylla, Ser Oswell, and Lord Howland.

By all accounts, the Martell princes weren't angry with Lyanna, but he wasn't taking any chances. Those of whom guarded her had very strict orders to keep Lyarra hidden away until the Mountain was firmly in House Martell's hands and secured.

His contingent were positioned on the ship in such a way that the Martell's would be unable to see the dead and unconscious bodies from their expected vantage point.

After he set the slender framed bundle in his arms upon the damp main deck, one of the crew having recently swabbed the wood, the young Lord Paramount took a cursory scan of his men and their burdens, then of the Dornish waiting on the shore and stopped abruptly.

"Arthur? Jaime?"

"Yes?" Answered the Dayne, his violet eyes snapping towards him from where they had been methodically scanning the crowd over the bulwark for any threats. Jaime tilted his head in acquiescence.

"I didn't see any Dornish faces in the capital," Ned frowned. "Where was Princess Elia's retinue and guards?"

Ned felt the Westerland heir stiffen beside him, as Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "The King was always leery about the men and women in Elia's service. They were loyal to her, not him. But they were in his castle. From what I heard, once word reached King's Landing of the defeat at the Trident, Aerys made the decision to send Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys to Dragonstone. But not the Princess or her babes. Instead he ordered any who were in Elia's service to leave the city."

Jaime continued where his mentor left off, knowing more than Arthur did about the events which occurred, "His paranoia was at an all time high. After learning of Rhaegar's and Prince Lewyn's death, he raged in the throne room ranting and raving that Lewyn must have betrayed his son during the battle. Aerys came to the conclusion mid rant, that it wasn't just Lewyn. It must have been a Dornish conspiracy, that they wanted to kill Rhaegar and him, so that they could supplant them with Aegon." Jaime shook his head in disgust. "Nevermind the fact that Egg couldn't even hold his head up properly… Anyways, Aerys was convinced that the Dornish were going to march on the capital."

Realization struck Ned with a powerful blow. "He kept Princess Elia and her children as hostages," blanched Ned.

The men watched as the vessel made berth, while two crewmen jumped onto the dock securing the dock and spring lines to a piling.

Jaime nodded his head regretfully, a stray golden curl falling into his eyes. "Unfortunately. He kept them as hostages and forced her people out of the city, a few of them had to be dragged out kicking and screaming with a trail of blood following them. He didn't want to take the chance of someone sneaking them out."

The clanking noise of armoured soldiers interrupted any continuation of the conversation as the ship finished being moored and a contingent of Martell guards shifted to protect their now moving charges along the short dock.

They watched as, what Ned assumed were, House Martell members separated themselves from the mournful crowd, striding towards the small pier.

Tensions aboard the vessel rose as the family of their late Princess came into view. Out of the corner of Ned's eye, he noticed Jaime shifting nervously every so often, showing his age, with Arthur trying to subtly calm him down.

The sailors on the dock helped secure a wide plank, bridging the ship and pier together, before shifting out of the path of the already moving fleet of soldiers.

Men wearing boiled leather, with the Martell sigil seared into the hide, and carrying both spear and shield climbed aboard the ship sweeping for threats, before allowing two men whom had separated themselves from the females and children of their family to board. Leading the contingent of soldiers was a tall, broad-shouldered, white haired man carrying the largest long-axe any of the Northerners or Westerlanders had ever seen.

Unease pierced the air, silencing all but the creaking of the ship and the noise of the waves breaking at the shoreline, as all aboard took in the figures of obvious Rhoynish nobility, with thick black hair and smooth olive skin, and their tall, lithe bodies draped in finery of orange and red with yellow accent stitching.

The first to reach the deck was the shorter of the two, though not by much. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in lean but defined muscle. His dark eyes scanned the group before him as the second figure came to a stop beside him. Neither had a sword on their person, but the daggers hanging from their belts and the way they held themselves displayed a dangerousness to them that was palpable to everyone aboard the vessel.

Neither group moved towards each other for a moment, allowing the already heavy atmosphere to further tense.

Stilling the anxiety, guilt, and nervousness that bubbled within his gut, the Quiet Wolf swallowed audibly and stepped forward half a pace before bowing deeply to the richly dressed Dornish; the Northmen, Westermen, and Dayne following his lead.

The taller of the two princes nodded in return, studying the mismatched group before him with an expressionless stare. "Lord Stark, I'm afraid we have yet to meet in person. I am Prince Doran of House Martell." He gestured to his left, "My brother, Prince Oberyn."

The man in question's face was deadpanned, like his brothers, but where Doran's eyes concealed his emotions, Oberyn's did not. Anger was quite prevalent in the Red Viper's narrowed, coal black eyes.

"Ser Arthur, so glad to see the rumors weren't true. You see, we've heard some rather conflicting stories recently, concerning you and Whent."

"That was the idea, my Prince."

"And Ser Jaime Lannister." The name was practically snarled through clenched teeth. "Oh - I am so sorry, you must forgive me! Is it Lord Jaime, now? Or Protector of the Realm? I personally think it should have been Oathbreaker." Mocked Oberyn, dark eyes flashing as his usually jovial tone was replaced with one whose vexation and displeasures were clearly heard.

Ned felt himself wince, thinking, "Fuck me."

The Lannister, which the name in and of itself was working against him at the moment, lowered his head, cowering away from the beloved brothers and uncles of the family he couldn't save. The family who haunted his nightmares, his mind forcing him to rewatch their deaths every time he closed his eyes. It didn't matter that he hadn't seen the killing blows of Elia and Aegon, only the aftermath - his mind readily filled in what he had missed. It was safe to say he was getting very good at surviving with minimal hours of sleep.

"Oberyn! We've talked about this," barked Doran, obviously agitated where this conversation was headed.

"He could have done more!" Oberyn raged in an unforgiving tone, "He could have saved them!"

Ned heard movement of armour behind him, prompting him to turn and see as Sandor gripped the sword attached to his belt tight, preparing for the possibility of needing to protect his Lord.

The solemn Northern lord spoke up suddenly, startling many who had forgotten he was there. "Actually, he couldn't have."

The interruption caused Oberyn's viper-like eyes to turn to Neds, spearing him in his place, whilst his sneering mouth practically hissed out, "What?"

Ned glanced around him, noting the wide eyed stare from Jaime and the pissed off expression of one Sword of the Morning, though thankfully not towards him - instead towards the Dornish Princes'. "I was there. That night, I was there with him. Aerys' body had barely hit the floor before he took off running for Maegor's Holdfast. At the time, I thought he was making a break for it, until he told us otherwise. But he was still too late. We were too late. So, if you're going to blame him… then you'll have to blame me too."

"You weren't the one who swore to protect his Prince's family," snarled Oberyn, his Dornish accent accentuated by his anger.

"No, but I was. Just as much as Jaime. Are you going to blame me too?"

"You were following your Prince and Princesses orders," interjected Doran before Oberyn could further spit out anymore condemnations.

"And he saved thousands if not millions of lives," Arthur snapped back, clearly fed up with the double standards and blaming game the Martell's (*cough* Oberyn *cough*) were playing. "If you wish to blame anyone, blame the perpetrators who carried out the horrendous act. Not the man who wasn't fast enough to save the victims."

"But I can't now, can I?" Oberyn shook his head, the anger having seemingly simmered out into bone aching grief. Grief that Ned now knew all too well. Shaking his own head, the wolf among sand and lions forced the images of his beloved sister dying, slurring her pleads to protect her child, from his mind. It was not the time, and it was definitely _not_ the place to grieve his losses. Focusing back on the matter at hand, Ned listened as the Red Viper continued, "Nobody knows with absolute certainty who did it. I mean, sure there are many, _many_ rumors, most involving two large lesser known knights sworn as bannermen to the Lannister's. But none with absolute proof. There were no Dornish in the Red Keep at the Sacking - all there are, are second or even third hand rumors. Some saying that you brought down their bodies in pieces, others stating that they were raised in status, praised far and wide," Oberyn spat out, understandably infuriated at that last rumor.

Ned turned towards his men and gave a nod, which caused them and the burnt Clegane to part, allowing the Dornish onboard to see the two piles of bodies on the deck. One pile consisted of two small beings wrapped in cloth placed beside a taller, but still small being also wrapped in cloth, having obviously been positioned with great care and respect. The other pile was not at all situated with any care whatsoever. Instead one visibly dead man, who had not been respectfully seen to as the others had, lay beneath Gregor Clegane. The 7 foot tall behemoth of a man was lying in a crumpled heap upon the deck, having been tossed down with little regard. His injuries from the Sack and his attempted escapes were also unmistakably noticeable.

Dawning expressions came upon their dark skinned faces, as the Martell's and their guards began to comprehend the situation before them. Sorrow was seen in many of their eyes before dark smirks rested along their mouths, their need for revenge and retribution shining across their faces.

Jaime finally spoke for the first time since the Martell contingent boarded the vessel, his voice smaller than Ned had ever heard in their journey. "Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn, while we - I couldn't save your family, we were able to kill and capture the two who committed the crimes. May I present to you Ser Gregor Clegane, and the body of Ser Amory Lorch."

A wicked smile came to rest on Prince Oberyn's face, his anger rigniting with a vengeance, his hand resting on the pommel of his dagger. Prince Doran's face, which had been almost expressionless beforehand, showed similar amounts of ruthlessness and mourning.

"So this is the infamous Mountain That Rides?" drawled Oberyn, as he moved forward stalking his prey. "I must say, he was mentioned in quite a few of the rumors, but we weren't sure. What did you do to him? The newer injuries, I mean."

"The combined efforts of Clegane and Wylla."

"Our cousin is quite spunky, isn't she?" Smiled Oberyn, but with far too many teeth at the moment to be kind. He turned abruptly towards Sandor, with the intent to interrogate the brother of the criminal before them. " And you must be the other Clegane. What is it they call you? The Hound?"

He nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with being under the gaze of so many at once. "Aye, Your Grace."

"Why help the people imprisoning and transporting your brother to certain death?" Doran questioned.

Shifting his tall frame nervously, Sandor answered gruffly, "He's always been a big fucker. And after a while nobody could control him. When I was seven, he found me playing with an old discarded toy of his - a knight. He… he shoved my face onto burning coals because of it. He held me there until my father and two of our men pulled him off. My father told everyone that my bedding had caught on fire." He grimaced and glanced around before bowing his head and continuing, "I had a younger sister once. Sera. One day she was alive and taking her first steps… and the next we were entombing her in the crypts. They wouldn't tell me what happened. No matter how many times I asked. But after that everyone was afraid of him. The servants, my father, my mother. Everyone. Mother died a few years later from complications while pregnant officially, though I heard some of the servants whisper of Gregor having pushed her down the stairs. They were soon gone too. An accident they said - it wasn't. So no, Your Grace. I did not, and I will not help that cunt. Ever. Pigs will fucking fly before I do that."

Oberyn perused the young Clegane's face as he talked, his learning at the Citadel causing his mind to identify the severity of the burns, taking note of the minimal amounts of healing that had taken place along with the inflammation and possible infection present.

There was a brief pause of silence aboard the ship after Sandor finished, everyone needing time to digest what this disgraced knight in front of them had done to his own family.

Doran broke the silence, his eyes holding a deep amount of understanding in them. "You seek vengeance just as much as we do."

"Aye, Your Grace. He's a monster. He shouldn't be allowed to live and cause more pain and suffering."

The Prince of Dorne turned to Ned, "Do you have any objections to us taking him into custody."

"He'll suffer?"

"Undoubtedly," answered Doran bluntly.

"Then be my guest," Ned replied unforgivingly, the dishonored knight's actions leaving him feeling little guilt with his decision. He only wished he could have done the same to the Mad King for the horrendous actions against his own family.

Doran turned towards his contingent of guards, specifically the one carrying the large long-axe, his eyes showing the vindictive pleasure he took in saying his next words. "Captain Hotah you're in charge of seeing the Mountain to his new rooms in the dungeons. Take as many as you need to safely transport him. The rest of the guards will take Amory Lorch's body. We'll see to our family," nodding towards Oberyn.

With a swift nod of agreement, the Captain of the Guard ordered his men into motion. As he watched the unconscious lump be moved from its unceremonious dumping spot, Oberyn's face was set with undisguised rage and fury, his dark eyes blazing and undeniably murderous - there was no question about it. If looks could kill Gregor Clegane would be thoroughly eviscerated many times over. There was still time for that of course, after being tortured and poisoned repeatedly.

As many of the guards moved slowly towards the ships exit, one of the younger guards heaved out, "Mother Rhoyne… he's a heavy fucker."

"Well," Oberyn drawled out in answer, while watching them in bemusement like he was seriously questioning the guards intelligence. "They call him the Mountain for a reason."

The orders and subsequent movement of household guards caused the deck to quickly clear of many of the soldiers sworn to House Martell, leaving but a few on board, and those guarding the rest of the family waiting on the pier as well as helping the city guards keep peace in the crowds on the beach. Said crowds roared in outrage at the sight of the guards moving the men who defiled and killed their beloved Princess and her babes. The aforementioned city and household guards had a hell of a time holding back the sheer number of citizens and their uncontrollable fury. The screams of obscenities and hostility could be heard deep into the ship by Wylla, Oswell, and Howland who shared a three-way glance as the noise caused their pup to rouse from her nap.

Ned was coming to see that while Elia and Lyanna were two starkly different women, each carrying attributes that their respective homelands contain, they were both adored by said homelands.

Doran and Oberyn gave little reaction to their peoples passionate response, only sharing a small smug smile that was laced with grief. Their sister had been so loved. Why was it always the good ones?

The mass feeling of unease on board lifted as the bodies were removed from the ship.

As the sound simmered down, telling those aboard the vessel that the criminals had been moved farther away and into the city, Doran turned back towards Ned. "You have given House Martell a kindness that can never be repaid. Anything you need from us, call and we will answer. Resources. Men. Anything. We will answer."

After receiving a confused but grateful nod from the Lord Paramount of the North, he turned to Jaime. "We thank you for your part in this. And while we may never understand all that went down, we do forgive your part in it." Oberyn made a noise of protest before shutting his mouth at the death stare his brother and Prince gave him. "You'll have to re earn our trust though."

"But I… I failed them… all of them," Jaime's voice, softer than any present had ever heard him speak, broke. His tan face crumbled, allowing for the visage of a broken boy, for that is what he is, to truly shine through. "I don't deserve your forgiveness… Their blood is on my hands."

With a huff towards the sky and a shake of his head Oberyn moved forward, causing a stir within the group containing a Westerman and Northmen, and grasped Jaime by his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"It's not your fault," he spoke sternly, moving to hold his hand up in front of Jaime's mouth. "I know what I said earlier. I was angry - still am actually. And I didn't know all the facts, but I probably never will. But I do know that you weren't the person who ordered their deaths nor carried it out. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault."

Oberyn grasped Jaime into a hug, causing the flood of tears that Jaime had been holding back for weeks now to flow. Sobs racked his body, the sound echoing in the silence of the ship. "Seems like you're hard enough on yourself as it is, you don't need us adding anymore guilt. We'll never have the same relationship we once did, but I'm willing to try to work on it." He waited a pause before continuing, "Or else Elia would come and strike me down personally, for upsetting her other younger brother. Do you want to see that, 'cause I sure as hell don't. Can you imagine the screeching that would occur? Oh, the horror."

Wet laughter bubbled out of the only blonde on board, as Oberyn ran a hand through his curls in a comforting brotherly way. Jaime's tanned skin was pale compared to the Dornish man holding him, giving a nice contrast to the eyes of those watching.

"Besides, I still owe you that spar. Though I have no idea why you'd wish to get your ass soundly handed to you, yet again. I mean, Obara is better than you at this point. Oh! Do you have a thing for dominance? What with you so ready to get your ass kicked by me, yet again."

Jaime squawked indignantly in response to Prince Oberyn's question on fetishes and statement declaring himself the obvious victor of a future spar, tan cheeks flushing slightly upon the answering chuckles from the others on deck.

Smiles came across Ned's, Arthur's, and Doran's faces as they watched the scene in front of them. The Northern contingent, plus a Hound, relaxed their grips on their weapons and swords, content in the knowledge that no fight would be breaking out.

With one last squeeze, Oberyn finally released the youngest of the former Kingsguards, allowing Doran the chance to grip him tightly before letting him go as well.

It felt like Ned was seeing the young Lannister standing beside him for the first time. The burden he had to carry having physically weighed him down, especially with him being too young to have even attempted to shoulder that burden.

Turning towards Ned and swallowing thickly, Oberyn asked the question that had been bothering him since they received the raven from Starfall. "Lyanna… she… her babe?"

Ned felt a dagger to the heart at the mere mention of his cherished sister, the pain of her death too recent for him to say more than, "Her babe, Lyarra, is healthy; she's down in the cabin with Wylla. Lyanna…" He cut himself off with a shake of his head and tears in his eyes, leaving Arthur and Jaime to finish the rest.

"She lost a lot of blood, the Maester could only do so much. We were lucky she lasted as long as she did." Arthur's voice shook in his attempt to control his own, whilst thinking about the dark haired, pale skinned beauty who had wormed her way into his Prince and Princess's hearts - as well as his own, though in a different way. He, along with Oswell were her protector _and_ her friend.

Oberyn made a wounded sound as his legs almost gave way, forcing him to clutch at the railing of the vessel in an attempt to remain standing. Tears flowed down his cheeks, Oberyn making no attempt to hold them back. Doran didn't fare much better, though he expressed it in a different way. His eyes screwed tightly shut, bowing his head in a conscious effort to keep from throwing up as the knowledge settled within him that another member of his family was dead. It didn't matter that they weren't bound by blood, he and Oberyn had loved and lost enough family members to know that they loved her with the same strength as they would have if she had been born Dornish and carried the Martell name.

Doran shook his head in the direction of his waiting family members. The women and oldest children of the group appeared to understand his gesture and unspoken words, causing quite a few to begin clutching at each other and crying, the shaking of their shoulders from the force of their weeping was visible from the deck.

"After Oberyn and I move our sister, niece, and nephew, can we… can our family meet its newest member… Can we meet our niece?"

All eyes turned to Ned for an answer; only he could make that decision. He hesitated briefly in his response, wishing desperately that he could protect Lyarra from everyone and thing, even those who claim her as family. He had already lost most of his pack, he will not lose anymore. As he opened his mouth to answer negatively, he glimpsed the look of desperation and the glimmer of hope within a sea of grief.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and responded, "Yes."

The answering grin from Oberyn nearly split his face in two, while Doran's was much more reserved with a slight smile gracing his face.

Those smiles quickly left their faces as they returned to the task at hand. With visible anguish swirling through their bodies, the two brothers made quick work of caring for their deceased families bodies. Doran moved their sisters body with ease over the deck and off the ship, Oberyn following behind him, carrying the small bodies of his niece and nephew with a gentleness that sharply contrasted to what he had previously shown.

Loyal household servants quickly came forth with wagons bearing the Rhoynish sun, it having been burnt into the wood. They met their Princes' half way down the pier, the men having passed their grieving family, laying Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon reverently down onto the wagon's hard surface. They paused briefly in front of the wagon before spinning around back towards the ship, hugging their loved ones as they went, herding them up the plank and onto the deck.

Their people watched in confusion. Why were they boarding the ship again? There was no need in their eyes. Few in the Dornish crowd seemed to truly understand the implications of the events taking place. That their sweet Princess Elia's last surviving child, though not of her womb but of her heart, rested on the ship in front of them. And how these next few moments would help shape Westero's in the years to come.

The sight that greeted House Martell once boarding the ship was their cousin, Wylla, holding a bundle of cream blankets in her arms cooing down at the babe swaddled among them. They briefly noticed the arrival of Ser Oswell and another Northern lord, but their eyes remained fixed on the pale fingers clutching a strand of Wylla's dark hair.

With a glance towards Ned, Oberyn and Doran removed themselves from the grappling arms of their families, approaching their new niece separately from the rest. Their movements were hesitant as they approached the woman and child, the Sand giving them a beaming smile and shifting forward to show the beauty in her arms.

At the sight of little Lyarra, Doran gave a true, unadulterated smile for the first time all day. Oberyn wasn't faring any better. Oberyn's smile, which had just recently been much too sharp, hate filled, and fake, smoothed into a small awe filled one, his eyes softening along with it.

"She's gorgeous… just like her momma. But her eyes… their…"

"Rhaenys'," Doran finished softly for his brother.

They were positively stunned by the paleness of her skin, paler than of the others aboard the ship, including the Northmen. Her silver hair, already curling into a riotous mess, and jewel toned eyes, which stared up curiously, sharply contrasted against her skin. Lyarra's clumsy fingers reached towards the new faces gazing upon her, encouraging Oberyn to lift his hand towards her, letting the tiny being grasp his finger. Oberyn and Doran were officially wrapped around her finger.

"Arianne, Obara, Nym come meet your baby cousin." Little feet answered their Papa's and Uncle's call as they shuffled towards their new cousin. Seeing the children, Wylla gave a warm smile, lowering herself to the ground so the children could inspect the infant. "You'll have to be gentle, she's very young and small."

Nymeria's sweet little voice whispered in awe, "She's so pretty…"

Obara frowned, taking in the child, deciding she was much too breakable and needed protecting, "And tiny."

A hand pulled on Doran's trouser leg, prompting him to look down into the eyes of his very excited eldest child, her brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Papa! Is she coming to live with us?"

He shook his head, rubbing his hands through her thick wavy hair. "No sweetling," causing Arianne to pout. "But we will visit her, and send her gifts and ravens. And maybe in time she'll visit us. But you are to treat her as you would one another. Protect her. Love her. She is your cousin - family. Do you understand?" He asked, aiming the question at all three of the girls, the only ones of his and Oberyn's children who could comprehend the severity of the circumstances.

Three nods answered his question, trying their hardest to show how serious they were. The only one who really succeeded was Obara.

Shuffling of feet broke them out of their adoring stare, causing them to turn towards the Quiet Wolf who held two very familiar pieces of embroidered fabric in his hands, having been passed to him by Wylla upon emerging on deck.

Seeing where the conversation was going Wylla took charge of the situation, shuffling the children towards their siblings and parents. "Come on girls! We still need to introduce your mother, Lady Ellaria, your sister, and brother to your new cousin!" She greeted Lady Mellario and Lady Ellaria, well aware that she had more than a few Northern guards shadowing her movements.

Ned held Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon's blankets towards the brothers. "Jaime and I thought you'd wish to have these. We weren't sure if you'd get anything back from the capital." Doran having taken both off his hands, Ned rubbed the back of his neck where the fierce Dornish sun hit him, "I'm sorry we couldn't grab more."

"You've done more than enough," Doran choked out, fingers rubbing reverently against the embroidered dragons and suns. "There should be another one similar to this in a trunk somewhere. Elia started and Lyanna was supposed to finish it. Obviously it was for Lyarra." Doran glanced back towards the dragon-wolf. "She'll always have a home here if ever the need arises. Always."

Oberyn inserted only half jokingly, "Expect many gifts to be sent yearly. And many visits. I don't think the girls will let her leave."

They stood there watching the women and children coo over the hidden princess.

"Gods." Ned shook his head, "Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Oberyn laughed in response. "Not at all. I'm guessing it was quite the shock for you. It was for us as well. Even though Elia was raised alongside us in Dorne, where it's more accepting of paramours, bastards, and other different levels of so called promescuties, we never even considered the idea of her being in a polyamorous relationship with a woman. Especially not after she married a Targaryen prince."

"I still can't wrap my head around it."

Oberyn clapped his right shoulder, "That may take a few years."

Doran cut through the laughter and japping that ensued, "If you do this, you will be committing treason against your childhood friend, one who just recently you were calling brother. Are you truly willing to take that risk?"

Ned's eyes softened minutely from where they rested on his niece turned daughter. "She's worth it."

Doran nodded his head, asking the next hard question. "At some point Robert will come calling for answers, what will you tell him?"

Ned sighed deeply, recalling clearly the look of revulsion upon his wild, spirited sister's face whenever Robert was near. The look that he had ignored in his desperate quest to make Robert his official brother, in all but blood. The guilt that followed that memory nearly overcame him, racking through his body, attempting to take him figuratively overboard. But he, once again, squashed the emotion, burying it deep within, desperately attempting to stall all the grieving that was sure to come until he was in the North. In Winterfell. Home. He knew it wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it'd have to do for now.

"When I set out for war, I had no intention in ending a centuries long dynasty. Only the life of one Mad King and possibly a harp playing prince - to avenge my family and save my sister. But now…" He curled his lips in disgust, "Neither me nor my men fought this war to put Robert on the throne. When did it become Robert's Rebellion? He used my families deaths, whether knowingly or not, as a fucking stepping stone."

Robert had taken advantage of the situation - of the Stark's deaths, Ned's grief, the Mad King's insanity, and the kingdom's outrage in his desperate attempt to finally get revenge for his own parents' deaths, and gain Lyanna's love and hand in marriage.

There had been victory against the Mad King and his reign, but with the knowledge Ned now possessed, he was of the belief that no one had truly won in this war. There was no clear victor, everyone lost something. Some more than others.

After a nod between brothers passed unseen, Oberyn spoke up, interrupting Ned's brooding thoughts. "You know," he drawled. "In the eyes of Dorne, your niece is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. She is our Queen."

Any who had been watching the wolf could see him rear back in disbelief, "What about Viserys? He's the only male Targaryen left, right? He is the heir, the King."

"Not by Dornish customs and traditions," Doran retorted calmly.

Oberyn snorted with a roll of his eyes, "I wouldn't count your eggs on that one just yet."

"What my brother means to say," Doran interrupted shooting a look at his brother who gave a sarcastic smile in return. "Is that he's showing a bit of a predilection to being -"

"A pain in the ass?"

"I was going to say unstable, but yes yours works too. We've already come to the conclusion that he is not someone we want with a lick of power, much less controlling the Seven Kingdoms."

Ned's steel colored eyes took on a bit of a crazed look as his grief stricken mind finally caught up to speed, "This is a lot to take in." He may or may not have had a tinge of histeria mixed in with his voice, but if there was, I think it's safe to say it's completely understandable with the year he's had. Hell the last few weeks would be enough to throw any well minded person off balance. Then a thought entered his brain. "What about the Queen? She was pregnant last I heard?'

Jaime, Arthur, and Oswell all perked up, hoping to hear good tidings for the delicate Queen.

At that Doran's face took on a lamenting expression. "We just got the raven bringing the news. Queen Rhaella died at Dragonstone giving birth to a daughter in the midst of what people are now calling "the worst storm in living memory." She named her Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Word is - as the Queen lay dying, she didn't name Viserys king, like her servants had been expecting, instead she named Rhaegar's child as the rightful ruler. Last we've heard the Targaryen fleet has been badly damaged by the storm, so they're readying for a seige. Stannis has been rebuilding the Baratheon fleet, he's close to setting sail for Dragonstone but the storm has stalled along the coast of the Stormlands. He won't be making it out of Storm's End anytime soon unless the waters calm significantly. You'll need to be careful, your current sailing path will lead you into parts of the storm."

Arthur wrapped an arm around both Jaime and Oswell, as if trying to physically hold their emotions together. The normally energetic Riverlander had an uncharacteristically sad countenance, while Arthur tried to keep a strong facade but tears were leaking out. Jaime just looked done with this year, too many people he loved had died in a matter of weeks. His emerald eyes glanced up and decided that it seemed to be the theme going around.

The sound of multiple pairs of footsteps halted any further conversation, as two servants walked across the modest pier, carrying a basket.

"Ah, yes! Almost forgot," Doran gestured towards the servants, prodding Oberyn to retrieve the basket. "Lyarra's eyes will be trouble enough to explain, but her hair can be easily remedied. Have you considered dying it?"

Thinking back to the conversation he had held with Arthur on the subject Ned responded, "Yes, but it's incredibly expensive. You'd have to ship it all the way from Tyrosh. And Arthur mentioned something about a possible reaction to it."

"It's not pretty to see - death has occurred before because of it. Though those of Old Valyria have kept that bit of information pretty hush hush. The reaction mainly occurs while they are young, and in the first few years of their lives. I'd wait to use it until she's at least 4 or 5 years of age - after that there's still a chance something could happen but serious reactions reduce dramatically," explained Oberyn, his Maester tutelage coming forth for all to see, whilst he hefted the basket into his arms and onto the ship.

"We had a stockpile of the dye here, ready to go in case Elia needed to take the children and run. But… we obviously have no need for it anymore… Anyways, the cost was probably relatively cheaper than what you'll be able to find considering we trade with the Tyroshi on a regular basis."

Oberyn thrust the basket towards Ned, simply stating, "It's yours. You need it more than we do. It should last until she can use it but if it does go bad before then, let us know, we'll send more."

Without letting Ned protest, the younger Martell Prince focused on Sandor shocking everyone by saying, "In the near future I will be sending you a poultice that should help your scars to some degree, along with the directions on how to use it and make more. Consider it as a thank you. Where will you be a month from now?"

Sandor's eyes widened completely befuddled at the kindness being shown to him, pointing towards Jaime. "I go where he goes."

Oberyn cocked his eyebrow tilting his head in the blondes direction, who said, "Casterly Rock - or at least in route." At the grimace Jaime received from Oberyn he flinched, "I know! You don't have to say anything that my mind hasn't already thought of. I would love to believe that my father didn't order this but… truth be told I think any good, loving part of him died with my mother. Or is at least hidden away deep inside him."

Oberyn nodded his head begrudgingly, letting it go, knowing there was nothing they could do right now. "We go through you. Okay? Any trade talks, anything we need or have to talk about, we go through you."

Jaime nodded his head rapidly, quickly agreeing to that concession.

Doran peered at the sun with a sigh. "We need to let you be on your way to cover some distance before sunset."

Oberyn snorted, "You going to tell the girls that this ship is leaving with their newest fascination without them on it?"

Doran grimaced before straightening up, "I'm the Prince of Dorne. I could just order you to do it."

"Damn it," Oberyn hissed, hesitating slightly before striding forward towards the abundance of females, the only male in the group being his infant nephew.

Doran smirked watching him get bombarded with arguments and pouting before turning towards the men and offering his hand to Ned. "I hope to see you again soon. Dorne is open to any trade talks you may have in the future. Congratulations on your heir, and please take good care of my beautiful niece." He then shook the hands of Jaime, Sandor, Arthur, Oswell, and the entire Northern contingent before walking towards his squabbling daughter, lifting her quickly into his arms. With a quick heartfelt goodbye to his cousin and niece, he began corralling the women and children towards the exit of the boat.

Oberyn took the reprieve to say goodbye to Wylla and Lyarra as well, getting a kiss on the cheek from the woman and a giggle from the babe. He stalked towards the knights, lords, and heirs, giving Arthur, Oswell, and Jaime a long hug promising to see them soon. He shook hands with the others, just as his brother did, before turning to the Stark lord. "Oh! A word of caution, Lord Dayne has already sent word to our spies telling them to start spreading the rumor of your infidelity with Ashara Dayne. Don't be surprised if your lady wife and her family give you a less than warm welcome." With a devilish smile and an unexpected hug, the passionate Dornish Prince scooped Obara, who was trying to argue that she should stay and protect the violet eyed babe, up and over his shoulder, herding the rest of the children off the ship and onto the dock.

Ned shook his head as he watched them go, emotionally feeling like he had just been both run over by a stampeding herd of horses, and adopted by the Martell's. Jaime, Arthur, Oswell, and even Sandor felt similar.

Wylla waved a hand at her cousins, getting two nods in response, feeling somewhat sad but content with the knowledge that she'd see them sooner than Lord Stark thought. She fixed the blanket wrapped around the babe in her arms, and glanced up at the men on deck, shaking her head at their dumbfounded appearances. She strode towards the stairs which would lead her back to the cabin, calling over her shoulder, "Look alive boys, we need to get sailing!"


End file.
